


The Hunger

by umakoo



Series: Suspended in Dusk [2]
Category: Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1264318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo/pseuds/umakoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom discovers that a committed relationship with a newborn vampire has its challenges. Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1160607"><b>First Blood</b></a> and second part in my vampire AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> The fic contains some blood drinking and mild bloodplay.
> 
> Much love and kudos to Amber, Daria, Becky and Schaudy for the beta and all the help <3

Chris pushed the bedroom door open as quietly as he could manage and tiptoed through the darkness, his eyes taking in every shape in the shadows. He set the breakfast tray down on the mahogany dresser, careful to avoid the framed pictures of Tom and his sisters that had once belonged to Tom’s Nan. Tom had left them on display when he moved in and Chris liked to tease him about the wild mop of curly hair he used to have as a boy.

Chris bit his lower lip, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he approached the four-poster bed, stepping over the two floor boards that always made a wailing sound under his bulk. He slid into the bed with the grace of a cat and shuffled over to Tom’s side.

Tom let out a sleepy whine when he felt the mattress dip under Chris’ weight, and Chris could hear his pulse speed up as he began to stir. He took a light hold of the sheets and worked them down along Tom’s body until they were low enough to reveal his naked body to Chris’ faintly glowing eyes.

The house was always freezing in the winter, though Chris no longer felt the cold, and Tom shifted again as his skin came in contact with the chilly air the bedroom.

Chris settled to lie on his stomach, his left hand holding gently on to Tom’s hip, his breath ghosting over the trail of coarse hair that led down between Tom’s slightly parted thighs.

He heard a deeply pleased sigh from somewhere above his head when he took Tom’s soft prick in his hand and nuzzled along the shaft with his nose and lips.

“Good morning,” Chris hummed, going for husky and seductive, but barely able to contain the laughter that threatened to bubble out of him.

“It certainly is,” Tom chuckled. His voice was rough from sleep and the sound of it sent a shiver down Chris’ spine.

Tom reached out with his hand and fumbled with the lamp on the bedside table. There was a tiny click and the bed was bathed in soft, yellow light. Tom raised his head a little from the pillows to glance down to where Chris was caressing him with his mouth and fingers.

Chris could tell Tom was already stirring against his palm and he pulled the loose foreskin down and parted his lips to take the flared head into his mouth, swirling his tongue against the sensitive underside and tasting the salt and musk of Tom’s skin.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Tom groaned.

Chris worked him into full hardness with measured, firm strokes, using his mouth and hands just the way Tom liked, familiar with all the little things that could turn Tom into a writhing mess in a matter of seconds.

Tom wound his long fingers into Chris’ hair and gave a gentle tug in warning. “I’m afraid I’m not going to last much longer…”

Chris licked a long stripe along the vein on the underside of Tom’s cock, feeling it pulse against his tongue in time with Tom’s heartbeats. The fingers in his hair tightened their hold and Chris sealed his lips around the head just as Tom began to spill into his mouth in thick spurts.

Chris swallowed every drop Tom had to give, ignoring the slightly bitter, salty taste. He still had no idea how he was able to do it when a piece of bread had made him puke his guts out, but Chris wasn’t complaining.

 

“Come here, love,” Tom murmured, smiling fondly at Chris.

Chris dragged himself up and rested his head against Tom’s heaving chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat in the cage of his ribs as it slowed down.

 

“What did I do to deserve such a wonderful wake-up, hmm?” Tom asked.

“It’s your birthday,” Chris beamed.

“Ah, so it is.” Tom brushed his knuckles against Chris’ cheek. “Would you like me to return the favor?”

“Nah, consider it part of your present. Besides, your brekkie’s getting cold.”

 

Chris reluctantly withdrew from Tom’s embrace to fetch the tray from the dresser. He set it over Tom’s lap, fluffing the pillows behind his back so Tom had something to lean against as he sat up. Tom licked his lips appreciatively, taking a deep inhale as his eyes roamed over the large breakfast Chris had been preparing since five in the morning; a proper English breakfast with poached eggs, crispy bacon, sausages, fried bread and baked beans.

Chris no longer craved normal food, and the greasy smell rising from Tom’s breakfast made him a little ill, but he made no mention about it, not wanting to ruin Tom’s enjoyment. He slipped back between the sheets and settled on his own side of the bed to watch as Tom discovered the small gift under the morning paper.

“Oh, what’s this, then?” Tom asked. He tugged on the red bow and gave Chris a curious grin. Inside the package was a small wooden carving attached to a leather cord. It had been painted with bright blue and green spots that bore the mark of a child’s sloppy hands.

“It’s a wooden gecko. I carved it from a eucalyptus tree when I was nine. It’ll bring you good luck,” Chris said.

Tom’s nostrils flared once and his eyes were suddenly glistening with tears. He slipped the leather cord over his head to hang the amulet around his long neck and it settled on his chest, right above his heart.

"It's perfect,” Tom breathed. He leaned closer to press a kiss to Chris’ lips. “Thank you.”

 

Chris propped his back against the pillows and set the morning paper against his knees while Tom ate, reading out loud some of the articles that caught their attention. When they reached the funny pages, Chris rummaged through the drawer in his bedside table for a pen and began to fill out the crossword puzzle.

Tom had a bad habit of giving away the answers while Chris was still busy counting letters and thinking about the different possibilities. Chris shot him warning looks from the corner of his eye, just waiting for Tom to reach the point when he could no longer keep quiet.

Chris was taking his sweet time with a tricky twelve letter word and he could sense Tom’s struggle to keep his mouth shut until the answer finally burst out of him.

“Confidential! The word you’re looking for is ‘confidential’,” Tom said, his mouth full of beans.

“I knew that! I was just about to write it down,” Chris huffed, turning the paper to shield the crossword from Tom’s eyes.

 

Chris eventually lost interest in the puzzle, unable to solve the final words and too proud to ask for Tom’s help. He set the paper aside and pressed his head into the pillows, allowing his eyes to rest on Tom’s face.

Chris watched the way Tom’s angular jaw moved as he chewed, the way the long lines of his throat bobbed with each swallow. He was clean-shaven and looked his age again, but Chris could already picture Tom with a dusting of grey on his temples.

The thought made him anxious.

Tom became aware of his stare after a while and he turned to look at Chris, his brows raised in question.

“Chris? Is something wrong?”

Chris blinked, averting his eyes, but he was never very good at hiding his emotions.

“You’re… you’re getting older,” Chris muttered.

“What? I’m thirty-six! That hardly counts as old,” Tom laughed, rolling his eyes.

Chris felt a little stupid now. Tom was right, 36 wasn’t old, but Chris couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that one day, Tom would be much older while Chris was suspended in his mid-20s for an eternity, or so it seemed. Time passed the way it always did, but Chris had remained the same since the day he was bitten a little over a year ago. His hair and nails still grew, but they only ever reached the length they had been at the moment of his turning. He didn’t sweat or gain or lose weight and his body stayed fit with or without exercise.

Meanwhile, Tom continued to grow older with each passing day, and Chris was beginning to realize that one day, he would outlive Tom. That day was still far away in the future, but the age gap between them would continue to widen with each birthday Tom celebrated.

 

Tom’s expression softened and he set his half-finished breakfast aside, moving closer until their knees were touching under the blankets.

“Chris… is there something you want to talk about?”

Chris’ mouth drew into a tight line. This was his first proper relationship after the disaster with Debbie, and he and Tom hadn't been together for more than a year, but the bond between them was deeper than anything Chris had ever experienced. He had never met the vampire who made him, but Tom had been there to look after Chris from the moment he’d been born into this new life, offering him more love and care and understanding than anyone who lived on human blood probably deserved.

Tom was so much more than his partner, and the thought of losing him was almost unbearable to Chris.

 

Chris looked away, unable to voice his thoughts, but Tom seemed to sense his distress.

"Come here," Tom murmured. He wound his arms around Chris’ neck and rolled over to lie on his back, pulling Chris on top of him, pressing light kisses along his jawline while his hand slipped into Chris' boxers to stroke him to hardness.

“Do you need some help?” Tom asked, craning his neck in an invitation in case Chris needed a little blood to reach full hardness.

Chris shook his head. “I think I’m good. It’s only been a week since I fed.”

He sat up to pull his vest over his head and kicked his boxers down his legs while Tom got the lube from the bedside table. Chris lathered his cock and reached between Tom’s legs to prepare him quickly, sliding in as soon as Tom gave him permission.

 

Chris’ dark mood drove his movements and there was a rough, desperate edge to their fucking. His hands roamed on Tom’s body, grabbing him anywhere and everywhere his fingers could reach, and his kisses were hungry and consuming as he tried to savour everything Tom had to offer.

 

Chris eventually lost control. His pupils contracted into slits and they both felt his fangs begin to protrude from his gums.

 

Tom pulled back from the kiss, grabbing Chris’ shoulders to still him.

“Chris…”

“I’m sorry, I-“

“Shh, it’s ok.” Tom moved his hands along Chris’ forearms, rubbing them gently, his touch soothing. “It’s ok.”

The raw need that had driven his movements seemed to simmer down, and Chris let out a shaky breath. He closed his eyes and felt the fangs withdraw.

“That’s it,” Tom whispered, his hands now on Chris’ lower back. “Are you ready to continue?”

Chris gave a nod. He leaned back to kneel on the bed, pulling Tom into his lap, reaching down between them to slide back inside. The position was more intimate and it allowed Chris to feel the muscles on Tom's back as his fingers traced the path of his spine up to the lean but well-defined shoulders.

Tom was only half-hard between their stomachs, still recovering from the earlier blowjob, but his hips moved with well-practised ease as he rode Chris’ cock, and Chris could do nothing to keep his orgasm at bay. He let out a low growl as he buried himself inside Tom, wishing, not for the first time, that he could fill Tom with his seed.

They watched each other, their breaths mingling. Tom tucked Chris’ hair behind his ears, the look in his eyes a little worried.

“Are you alright?”

Chris leaned in to nuzzle the back of Tom’s neck, inhaling his familiar scent. “Yeah. Everything’s ok now.”

 

* * *

 

 

Tom parked his silver Ford Corsair next to the crowded pavement, cringing when he almost hit the bumper of the car behind him. He’d never been that good behind the wheel and driving in London was an absolute nightmare.

“Like a glove,” Tom declared, laughing at his own joke. He glanced into the rearview mirror and ran his fingers through his neatly combed hair, making sure he was presentable.

“This thing is so tight I can hardly breathe,” Chris groaned in his own seat, yanking on his black tie.

Tom  gave Chris a sympathetic smile. He could almost taste his nervousness in the air between them. “Here, let me.” Tom brushed Chris’ hands aside, straightening his tie and tucking in the lapels of his new blazer, leaning back in his seat to inspect the result.

“Well? How do I look?” Chris asked.

“Devastatingly handsome,” Tom grinned. “Are you ready?”

Chris let out a deep sigh. “I guess,” he said, looking like a man about to be hanged.

“There’s no need to worry, no one’s going to judge you or think poorly of you,” Tom assured him. “You’ll charm every single one of my friends.”

“Even if they find out I’m a vampire?”

“Even if they find out you’re a vampire.”

Chris didn’t look convinced, but they got out of the car and crossed the street to make their way to the entrance of Tom’s favorite Italian restaurant in Soho. He had reserved them a table in honor of his birthday and some of his friends were going to join them.

 

It had taken Chris months to gather the courage to venture out of Greenwich, and even longer until he was comfortable enough to start to interact with people. Tom had done his best to support him, giving Chris time to get used to his new life, knowing how deeply his first few days as a newborn vampire had scarred him.

Chris’ fangs still shot out at the sight and smell of blood and he couldn’t keep them in if he was startled or threatened by something, but together they had worked on Chris’ self-control, and he was slowly beginning to find ways to keep the vampire in him in check.

Tom took Chris’ hand, knowing that his touch calmed Chris better than anything else.

Chris was nervous about meeting Tom’s friends for the first time and there was extra pressure on him to keep his fangs hidden since they were going to be in public, but Tom had been hiding their relationship for a year now and they were going to have to do this sooner or later; it might as well be tonight.

“I still don’t know what we’re going to tell everyone when they realize I’m not eating or drinking anything,” Chris muttered as a young waitress showed them to their table.

“We could just tell them you’re a vampire?” Tom smirked.

“What?!” Chris sputtered.

“Chris… do you honestly think anyone would believe us? Just relax and enjoy yourself, alright?”

 

 

Tom had been right: every single one of his friends was utterly charmed by Chris’ natural charisma and sunny smile as he greeted them, reaching over the table to shake everyone’s hand.

Tom had to laugh as he realized Chris was stealing the spotlight on Tom’s own birthday, but he was more than happy to step aside and watch Chris enjoy himself, completely at ease now that the ice had been broken.

Most of the people Tom had invited were close friends he’d worked with during his career as a stage actor. There were several larger-than-life personalities seated at the table, and Tom knew his friends were a little eccentric and very loud, but Chris seemed to fit right in.

 

When the waiter arrived to take their orders, James, who was seated next to Chris, noticed Chris wasn’t ordering anything.

"Are you on a diet or do you know something about the cook of this establishment that I don't?"

Chris had been expecting the question, but he froze anyway.

“I’m afraid poor Chris had a terrible case of stomach flu earlier this week and he’s still on the mend,” Tom explained from his own seat at the other end of the table.

“You poor bastard,” James said, and the entire table joined him in giving their sympathies to Chris.

 

The evening wore on, and Tom was finishing his dessert when Mary leaned a little closer to whisper in his ear, “He’s absolutely perfect.” Tom didn’t miss the hint of envy in her voice and his chest expanded with self-satisfied pride. “Where on earth did you find him?”

Tom lifted his glass to his lips and took a sip of red wine, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “In my bedroom,” he chuckled.

Mary rolled her eyes. “Fine, keep your secrets, then,” she huffed, taking a sip from her own glass. “He’s a bit young, though, isn’t he?” she said, arching her brows in a very telling manner.

Tom felt himself flush and he was thankful for the dim lighting in the restaurant.

“Oh, he’s not _that_ young.”

“Younger than everyone else at this table,” Mary pointed out. “What does he do for a living? Or is he still in school?”

Tom dropped his gaze to the table cloth, not entirely sure what to tell her, because Chris didn’t in fact do anything at the moment. He had lost the construction job he’d had in Cardiff, as it would have required him to be out and about during the day.

 

Tom had taken Chris to the small flat he had rented near the sports stadium to terminate the tenancy and collect Chris’ things, though he didn’t have much more than a wardrobe full of jeans and t-shirts and a used Xbox Chris had bought from his first paycheck.

Chris set the machine up in Tom’s living room and he spent the hours Tom was at the theater playing with random people he met online. Chris often tried to get Tom to join him, but the only game Tom could handle was solitaire on his old laptop, and their matches often ended with Tom straddling Chris after the first five minutes, the game forgotten and nothing but white noise in the background as they fucked on the antique sofa.

Chris, quite understandably, hadn’t been able to find a new job, but Tom’s family had always been well-off, and money wasn’t really an issue for him. He didn’t mind covering the small everyday expenses, and he quite enjoyed doting on Chris and buying him small gifts, but there were times when his good intentions weren’t received all that well.

Tom cringed as he was suddenly reminded of the time he had bought Chris a beautiful wrist watch, a vintage Omega from 1968. They had been lying in bed, their bodies relaxed after sex and Chris had been naked save for the watch on his wrist. Tom had smiled at him, running his fingers along Chris’ muscled arm, flicking them against the glass display of the watch.

“It’s like you’re my kept boy,” Tom had smiled, not even half serious, but his words had been an instant blow to Chris’ pride and he’d rolled out of the bed, leaving the room before Tom had had a chance to apologize.

 

“Tom?” Mary asked, giving him a little nudge.

Tom snapped out of his thoughts, realizing she was still waiting for an answer. He cleared his throat, trying to sound nonchalant, but he was absolutely rubbish at lying. “He’s, uh, he’s between jobs at the moment.”

Mary gave him a half-amused, half-scandalized look. “Oh, Tom… You’ve found yourself a toy boy,” she laughed quietly.

Tom’s blush grew even deeper and he groaned at Mary’s choice of words, glancing to his left to make sure Chris hadn’t heard her. “Stop it,” he hissed, gulping down more wine just to hide his face behind the glass. “You’re terrible…”

Mary continued to smile at him, reminding Tom of his sisters whenever the two were gossiping about something. “Are you happy?” Mary asked after a while.

“I am,” Tom nodded, and as he looked across the table to where Chris was deep in conversation with Richard and James, his entire face began to glow. “To tell you the truth, Mary, I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy with someone.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was past ten when the wine finally ran out and everyone’s belly was full. Tom and a few of his friends were stopped by an elderly couple at the exit for autographs, and he was happy to sign the old lady’s notebook as she told him how much she and her husband had enjoyed Tom’s work over the years.

Richard and Mary invited everyone to join them at one of the nearby night clubs, but Tom declined their offer, eager to spend the remainder of his birthday alone with Chris.

 

“Did you have a good time?” Tom asked Chris after he had waved goodbye to his friends. His voice was a little slurred from the wine and there was a warm, pink glow on his cheeks that gave his face a boyish appearance.

“Yeah,” Chris beamed. “Your mates are awesome. A little scary, but awesome. And it turns out James has some relatives back home in Melbourne, so he and I had a lot to talk about.”

Tom hummed quietly. He took hold of Chris’ hand and gave it a light yank. “Home is still in Australia then?” he asked.

Chris dropped his gaze to the slushy pavement. There was no accusation or anything hidden in Tom’s question, but Chris felt a small jab of guilt.

“You know I love living with you, but… yeah, I guess my heart’s still in Melbourne,” Chris admitted.

“And that’s perfectly alright,” Tom assured him, squeezing his hand.

 

Chris’ brows knit together and the lines above them deepened. Even if neither of them said it out loud, they both knew Chris wouldn’t be going back to Australia any time soon. The flight was long and it would take a lot of very careful planning to fly across the world while avoiding the sun.

He hadn’t seen his family since he’d followed Debbie to the UK, though Liam had visited him after Debbie called it quits, doing his best to cheer up his big brother, which mostly meant getting shitfaced. Chris’ memories of that week were hazy at best and it had taken him days to recover from the epic hangover.

He still hadn’t told his family what had happened to him, pretending everything was fine whenever they phoned or Skyped with him. What could he even say to them? ‘By the way, mum and dad, I live on human blood and my body isn’t technically alive. Yeah, nice to see you too.’ It just wasn’t something you could drop on your family over the phone.

His mates in London and Cardiff had called Chris a few times, asking him to visit, but they all had their own little families now and the calls were becoming less and less frequent as Chris kept blowing them off.

 

“So, the night is still young and I don’t have a performance tomorrow,” Tom said, his expression full of light-hearted mischief. “Is there anything you’d like to do before we head home?”

Chris scrunched his face in mock consideration. “Can we drive somewhere quiet and make out in the car?” he asked, flashing Tom a saucy grin.

Tom laughed and reached into the pocked of his leather jacket, handing Chris the keys to the Ford. “Lead the way, lover boy.”

 

Chris sat behind the wheel and Tom slumped into the seat on his left. They headed out of Soho and Tom gave him directions whenever it looked like Chris was going to take the wrong turn at a round-about or get lost in the late-night traffic.

Chris’ breath hitched when he felt Tom’s right hand settle between his slightly parted thighs as they were waiting for the traffic light to turn green. He glanced down and saw Tom’s long fingers splayed against his inner thigh, rubbing and squeezing, slowly moving higher up toward Chris’ crotch.

The light turned green and Chris pressed his foot down on the accelerator, but Tom continued to fondle him through his jeans, his fingers climbing up to Chris’ stomach to feel the hard-cut muscles under the shirt. Tom’s left hand was moving between his own thighs, palming the rather obvious bulge in his well-fitted trousers. He watched Chris with a lazy grin on his lips, his eyes half-lidded.

Chris felt his cock twitch in his jeans. “Oh fuck…” he breathed. “Where the hell can I park this thing?”

Tom let out a low chuckle. His hand squeezed around Chris’ half-hard cock briefly before withdrawing to point at the small, vacant car park between two old buildings further down the street.

 

The backseat of the car was much too small for them to get even remotely comfortable, but Tom climbed into Chris’ lap, half-sitting across his left thigh as they traded hungry kisses in the darkest corner of the car park, safe from prying eyes.

Chris’ left hand squeezed Tom’s ass while the right one palmed his cock through his trousers, and Tom met every touch with an eager roll of his hips. Chris could taste the heady flavor of the wine Tom had been drinking over the course of the evening in every kiss, and the thickening smell of arousal between them fueled his lust. He yanked Tom’s tight leather jacket off his shoulders and down his arms to allow Tom to move more freely, and Tom in turn loosened the tie that had been bothering Chris all night.

 

“Chris?” Tom panted against Chris’ open mouth, taking his bottom lip between his teeth to give it a playful nip.

“Yeah?”

“There’s, uh, there’s something I’ve wanted to ask you, a little favor of sorts,” Tom said.

Chris felt him squirm in his lap and he realized Tom was nervous. “Let’s hear it,” he smiled.

“How would you feel about giving me a little taste of your blood?” Tom asked.

Chris shook his head, alarmed by the request. “Tom, I don’t know...”

Tom leaned in to kiss along Chris’ jaw. “Just a few drops, darling,” he whispered, his breath warm against the shell of Chris’ ear, “for my birthday,” he almost mewled.

Chris knew how much pleasure they both felt every time Tom allowed Chris to feed from him, and he suspected the effect would be similar if he returned the favor and gave Tom some of his own blood.

“Just a taste then,” Chris finally agreed, unable to resist the ridiculously pleading look in Tom’s large eyes, or the way he ground his cock against Chris’ thigh.

Tom’s mouth split into a broad smile that was all teeth. “Just a taste,” he nodded.

 

Chris turned the small light above their heads on, and Tom leaned back a little as Chris opened his mouth and curled his upper lip back to allow his fangs to grow to their full length. He sank the sharp tips into his lower lip and exhaled through his nose as the taste of his own blood flooded his mouth. It wasn’t as satisfying as drinking from Tom, but it still managed to stir the usual hunger in him.

Chris gathered Tom into his arms and pulled him closer until their heaving chests were touching. Tom arched his brows in a wordless question and Chris nodded his assent. He parted his lips as Tom leaned in and pressed their mouths together, slipping his tongue in to explore.

Tom let out a deep, guttural groan and in the next moment he was kissing Chris like his life depended on it, plundering his mouth and sucking on his tongue and the sluggishly bleeding lower lip, greedy for every drop of blood.

Chris could barely keep up with Tom and he finally pressed his palm against Tom’s chest to push him back and break the kiss.

Tom was panting out shallow little breaths, trying to lean in for another taste, but Chris held him back. He could see Tom’s pupils were blown wide, swallowing up the blue of his eyes.

“Tom? Are you ok?”

Tom let out a breathless laugh. “I'm brilliant.” He leaned in for another kiss, pushing Chris down on his back on the narrow leather seat, settling between his parted legs to rut down against him in a frantic pace.

Chris felt the heat of Tom’s hard arousal throbbing against his thigh and his own cock swelled against the fly of his trousers, begging to be released from its confines. Tom was already working their belts open and as soon as their flies were undone, he reached in to pull their cocks out.

The position was absolutely awful, but Tom seemed to be beyond caring.

“I wish we were at home,” he panted, rolling his hips and thrusting against Chris, one of his hands groping at Chris’ ass. “I would shag your brains out, love.”

Chris let out a groan, parting his legs to allow Tom to grind against him.

“Would you like that, mmm?” Tom grinned against Chris’ mouth, still searching for the lingering taste of blood.

“Yeah…” Chris nodded. “Yeah.” He reached between them to stroke their cocks, and Tom began to come as soon as he felt Chris’ touch.

“Oh fuck,” Tom hissed, burying his face in the crook of Chris’ shoulder.

Chris caught most of Tom’s sudden release in his fist, but he didn’t have time to reach for the napkins in the glove compartment when Tom straightened up in his lap and grabbed hold of Chris’ wrist, taking his fingers into his mouth, licking each digit clean while his other hand worked on Chris’ cock.

Tom was quite adventurous in bed and it wasn’t the kinkiest thing he had done, far from it, but the sight and feel of him sucking on Chris’ fingers, savoring the taste of his own come was almost too much for Chris.

“I want you to come for me,” Tom said, his voice commanding. He withdrew the last finger from his mouth with an audible pop, flicking his tongue out to clean the few drops of white at the corners of his grinning mouth. “Come.”

“Christ, Tom…” Chris panted, his cock pulsing inside Tom’s fist.

“There you go,” Tom hummed with a satisfied, almost fiendish smile on his lips as he continued to jerk Chris’ cock. “There you go.”

The leather seat creaked under Chris’ weight as he writhed through his orgasm, his head banging against the door. Tom watched him with content eyes.The high from the blood seemed to have worn off with his release, but Chris could still sense a lingering air of dominance from Tom.

“Thank you for the perfect birthday, love,” Tom smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to Chris’ parted lips, suckling on his tongue. “How about you get us home now so we can have a proper shag?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tom paced around the study, his eyes fixed on the script in his hand as he rehearsed his lines, trying different things and delivering them in varying tones. It was a new contemporary play and Tom didn’t have the luxury of already knowing most of the lines by heart the way he often did with Shakespeare and other playwrights whose works filled the bookshelves in his flat.

He spun around in the middle of a passionate monologue and let out a startled gasp when his eyes landed on Chris who was leaning against the door frame, an amused grin splayed across his lips.

“You wretch,” Tom chided, “I thought you were still in bed. How long have you been standing there?” He hated the way Chris always managed to sneak up on him and scare him half to death.

“Oh come on, you love it when you have an audience.” Chris stepped into the room and stole his usual good evening kiss from Tom’s pouting lips. “Besides, I love to watch you work.”

“In that case, you can help me with this scene.” Tom shoved the script to Chris’ hands, ushering him toward the large leather armchair by the windows.

 

They spent the best part of an hour going over the scene. Chris read for the other two characters Tom was supposed to be interacting with, but he kept getting lost in Tom’s performance, and Tom had to clear his throat every once in a while to direct Chris’ focus back to the script in his hands.

 

Tom kept fumbling with his lines as his tongue got tied on the same two words over and over again, and Chris waited patiently until he got them right, but as soon as they were able to continue, Tom’s mobile went off on the desk, the loud ringtone breaking his concentration. “God damn it.” Tom grabbed the phone and his expression grew a little concerned when he saw the caller ID. “It’s Judy…”

Chris set the script aside, watching Tom nervously from across the room.

 

The call didn’t last long. There wasn’t much Tom could say. Judy and her husband were moving to Leeds and she had been offered a job at one of the local hospitals. Their deal with her was over.

“It’s alright, love, I understand. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me.”  Tom set the mobile on the desk and gave Chris a wary look over his shoulder. “Chris…”

Chris slumped against the back of the chair and buried his face in his hands. He could guess what the call was about. “What the hell am I gonna do now…”

Tom knelt by his feet and took Chris’ hands in his own, forcing him to meet his eyes. “It’ll be alright.” Tom tried to sound calm, but Chris could probably sense his concern. “Chris, it’ll be alright. We’ll think of something.”

“You shouldn’t even have to worry about this,” Chris groaned.

“What do you mean?” Tom asked.

Chris yanked his hands away and stood up from the chair to pace before the windows. “You’ve done so much for me… and I’m ruining your life,” he wailed.

“What? Chris, darling, no,” Tom exclaimed, hurrying up to his feet. He grasped Chris’ shoulders and gave them a light shake. “Don’t ever think that. You’re not ruining anything.”

 

Chris would sometimes succumb to darker moods when he was becoming hungry, but he had fed only a few days ago, and Tom couldn’t understand where this sudden self-loathing was coming from.

 

Chris shrugged Tom’s hands away and continued to pace. “You’ve been supporting me for the past year and I’m pretty sure I can never pay you back. I feel like a fucking leech.”

“I’ve told you, money isn’t an issue-"

“And your neighbors must think you’re some crazy shut-in because every single window in your flat is covered up,” Chris continued, pointing at the blinds in the windows.

“I don’t care what the neighbors think,” Tom tried to tell him, but Chris wasn’t listening.

“I almost _killed_ you when we first met and you’re constantly on the verge of anemia because of me.”

“What?” Tom's eyes darted around as he pretended he didn’t know what Chris was talking about.

“Oh, come on, Tom, I know about the vitamins and iron supplements you take. You’ve got a small pharmacy in the kitchen cupboard, in the old box of Earl Grey.”

Tom scratched the back of his head. “Damn… I thought I had hidden them pretty well,” he said with a sheepish smile.

“I would have known anyway,” Chris sighed, “I can smell your red blood cell count is low.”

A heavy, stifling silence filled the room. Tom placed his hand on Chris’ shoulder once more, but Chris refused to meet his eyes.

“You deserve so much better, Tom,” Chris said. “I should just go…”

A sudden feeling of numbness spreading down his limbs made Tom sway where he stood.

“Go where?”

 

Tom barely had time to react when Chris was already out of the room.

The hanger in the coat rack was still swinging when Tom got to the hallway and there was an empty spot next to Tom’s loafers. He hurried out to the street, but there was no sign of Chris. 

 

* * *

 

 

Chris walked along the Thames, letting his feet carry him on without any direction. His phone kept buzzing in his pocket every ten minutes as Tom tried to reach him with texts and calls that didn’t end until they were directed to Chris’ voice mail. The constant ringing made him feel guilty and Chris eventually turned his mobile off.

He didn’t know what had made him storm out like that, but it felt good to be out of the house, out in the open.

It was late spring and the nights were short, which meant Chris was stuck indoors for most of the evening. The sight and smell of urban life flooded Chris’ senses and he let out a content exhale, finally able to forget the problems that had been piling up and weighing on him for months.

He had never been happier than he was with Tom, but part of him felt trapped in this half-existence that his life had become; the world had never felt as small and overwhelmingly vast all at once. It consisted mostly of the rooms in their flat and so many places seemed almost impossibly far away. Sometimes it felt like Tom was his last remaining link to humanity, the one thing that kept Chris from losing what little sense of normality he had left in his life.

Chris felt utterly wretched about inflicting Tom’s life with his own limitations. Tom insisted that he didn’t mind the late nights or the blinds in the windows, but his electricity bill had to be astronomical. And even if Tom refused to reveal how much he’d spent on the blood deliveries over the last fifteen months, Chris knew it wasn’t cheap.

His eyes fixed on a couple of teenagers as they walked past him and he caught himself listening to the beat of their hearts and the blood pumping through their bodies. The familiar urge to feed washed over him in a sudden, overwhelming wave, and Chris picked up his pace.

His brow creased with worry as he realized he would have to find a new way to feed himself now that the deal with Judy was off. He supposed he would have to try animal blood again, even if the mere thought of it repulsed him, but Chris felt guilty enough about the little tastes Tom offered him during sex, and he knew a proper feeding would be too much for Tom.

 

The late night began to creep towards dawn as Chris wandered around Greenwich, thinking about his life back in Melbourne. He missed his parents and his brothers and all his old mates he grew up with, and he wondered if things could ever go back to the way they were, but he knew that even if he was somehow able to travel across the world without burning to a crisp, it didn’t change the fact that Chris was still a vampire.

He remembered the pictures Luke had emailed of his newborn daughter a few weeks ago, and he realized he’d never be able to have children of his own. So many things had been robbed from him and Chris felt nothing but bitter anger over the lack of choice he’d had in any of this. Whoever had turned him had destroyed his life and they hadn’t even cared what happened to him.

 

Chris didn’t realize how far he’d walked or how late it was until he began to feel the usual sleepiness that came over him near dawn.

He finally pulled his mobile out of his pocket and turned it on.

Chris’ breath caught in his throat when he saw the amount of missed calls and texts jumping at him as soon as the screen lit up. He bit his lip, hesitating before he flicked his thumb to open one of the texts, followed by another and another after that.

Chris could see Tom’s worry increase with each new message he read.

 

_‘Please, answer me! Where on earth did you go? Come home, love, and we’ll talk.’_

 

_‘Why aren’t you answering me? You need to come home!’_

 

_‘Please, come home, Chris...’_

 

_‘I need you to come home it’s almost dawn!!!’_

 

_‘Chris, please…’_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tom tried to keep his eyes away from the all the clocks in the flat, but he knew dawn was less than an hour away. He moved from room to room, unable to sit still for longer than five minutes before he found himself pacing again, his nerves completely wrecked. He’d been growing steadily drunk since one o’clock and he poured himself another glass of brandy, but the alcohol did nothing to dispel the cold fear that had settled into the pit of his stomach.

 

The front door opened quietly at twenty past five.

Tom dropped the book he’d been leafing through and ran into to the hallway. Chris stood by the coat rack, visibly out of breath. Tom crossed the distance between them in a few long strides and threw his arms around Chris’ neck, shivering as he felt his solid weight against his own body.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Tom murmured against Chris’ cheek, breathing in his scent. “Thank goodness.”

Chris’ hands hung limply at his sides, hesitant to touch, but as Tom burrowed tighter against him, Chris finally wound his arms around Tom, holding him close.

“Do you have _any_ idea how worried I was?” Tom chocked out, but his voice was soft; he was too relieved to be angry.

“I’m sorry,” Chris whispered, “I’m a complete dipstick-“

And that was all he managed to get out before Tom crashed their mouths together, kissing Chris with such longing that it took Chris a moment to respond.

Tom squeezed the lapels of Chris’ jacket in his fists to anchor him against the wall as he continued to kiss him, all the fear and worry he’d felt during the course of the night pouring out of him.

 

* * *

 

 

The smell of Tom’s special pasta sauce drifted into Chris’ nostrils from the kitchen downstairs. It was only supper time and sunset was still a few hours away, but Chris rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. He slid his feet into Tom’s slippers that were left neatly by the ottoman at the end of the bed, ignoring the way his heels pushed over the soles.

He followed the rich smell of tomato sauce and garlic into the kitchen and found Tom rummaging through the spice cabinet above the stove. Chris lingered in the doorway and cleared his throat, not wanting to startle Tom.

“You’re up early,” Tom observed, glancing over his shoulder. Chris eyed him a little hesitantly, trying to read Tom’s mood, but Tom was like a blank slate tonight. He sprinkled some oregano into the steaming sauce, stirring it with a wooden spoon. "Are you going to come in?" Tom asked, giving Chris an expectant look.

Chris slunk into the kitchen, and Tom watched him from the corner of his eye as Chris came close enough to peck his evening kiss to Tom's cheek.

“So… am I in the doghouse?” Chris asked, peering at Tom through his dark lashes.

Tom set the spoon down and turned to face Chris, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Well, you ought to be, running off like that and not letting me know where you were,” he huffed, but Chris was relieved to see there was no real anger or accusation in Tom's eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Chris said, his voice thick with guilt. “I don’t know what came over me. It just felt like the walls were closing in on me.”

Tom reached out to pull Chris into his arms, "Do you want to talk about it?"

“I miss my family and my mates and being out during the day like normal people. And I miss all the things I never had a chance to experience.” Chris let out a quiet huff of laughter. “Does that make any sense?”

“Of course it does,” Tom said, his voice full of sympathy.

Chris shuffled a little closer, resting his hands on Tom’s hip. “You remember those pictures Luke sent? Of the new baby?”

“Mmmh,” Tom nodded. “She’s adorable.”

“I can never have kids of my own,” Chris sighed, visibly dejected.

Tom frowned, and he seemed to be taken aback by the direction the conversation was heading. “You want children?”

Chris shrugged. “No… I don’t know? I guess I’m just angry that I no longer even have that option, because it was taken from me.”

Tom’s expression grew solemn and he withdrew from their embrace to stir the sauce. There was a stretch of silence between them and Chris realized that Tom must have dealt with similar thoughts at some point in his life, albeit for a different reason.

The pasta was boiling over in the large pot at the back of the stove, and Tom used the small distraction to break the silence and change the subject.

“I have some good news,” he announced.

“Yeah?”

“I know how miserable you’ve been after you lost your old job in Cardiff – oh would you be a dear and set the table for me? - and I made some calls and pulled a few strings while you slept.”

Chris reached into the cupboard as he waited for Tom to continue.

“There’s a job opening at the theater I’m currently performing at.”

“A job?” Chris echoed, peering at Tom from behind the cupboard door.

“The old usher is retiring after the summer, and the manager and I go way back, so I was able to recommend a certain trustworthy, handsome young man for Alfie’s replacement.”

“Who? Me?”

Tom rolled his eyes and reached out to give Chris’ nose an affectionate squeeze. “Yes, you.”

“An usher?” Chris repeated. “Is that like a fancy doorman?”

Tom chuckled and tipped his head to the left. “Well, I suppose you could say that. There are some matinee shows in the afternoon, but they have zero-hour contracts, so you won’t have to be at the theater until after nightfall and you get to pick your own shifts. And you won’t have to worry about the summer season when the days are long. We can tell Susan you’re a student and you’ll fly home for the summers. That’s pretty normal among employees who are still in uni.”

Tom let out a surprised yelp when Chris pounced on him and pushed him against the fridge, covering his face with wet kisses.

“Thank you,” Chris murmured. He leaned back a little to look Tom in the eyes. “Thank you,” he repeated, “you have no idea how much this means to me, Tom.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The blood from Judy’s final delivery lasted them another six weeks. They didn’t wait for Chris’ hunger to grow unbearable, and Tom sat him down at the kitchen table five whole days before Chris’ blood lust began to manifest itself.

Chris stared at the large pint Tom had set before him. It was filled to the brim and the blood inside the glass was so thick it was almost black. He wrapped his fingers around the pint, inhaling the familiar coppery smell. His fangs had pushed out as soon as he had seen the blood pouring into the glass, but there was something about this particular blood that made Chris less than eager to try it.

“Well?” Tom watched him expectantly from across the table.

Chris let out a dramatic exhale and raised the glass to his lips. “Cheers, mate.”

 

The blood tasted _wrong_ and Chris had to struggle to keep the look of disgust from his face as he drank. Tom was watching him with bated breath, worrying his thin bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes hopeful.

 

“Does it taste alright?” Tom asked when Chris had emptied half of the pint.

Chris set the glass down and licked his lips. A shiver ran down his spine as the salty taste lingered on his tongue. His body felt a bit more nourished, but everything about the blood felt somehow unnatural. He may have been able to feed on animal blood when he was a newborn vampire desperate for his first drink, but no way in hell could Chris actually live on this stuff.

“It’s alright,” he lied, not wanting to disappoint Tom or make him worry.

Tom let out a huge sigh of relief and slumped against the back of his chair. “Thank goodness.” He fetched the canister of blood from the counter and filled Chris’ pint to the brim once more.

The corners of Chris’ mouth twitched as he struggled to smile. He lifted the glass to his lips and drank until his body had had its fill.

 

Chris managed to feed himself on the pig’s blood for the next two months, but the amount he was able to drink began to decrease with each feeding. The blood didn’t offer him the same kind of nourishment he’d been getting from the blood Judy had smuggled out from the hospital and he was left unsatisfied even when his hunger was sated.

 

Tom was kept busy by his upcoming play and he spent most of his time at the theater, blissfully oblivious to Chris’ struggles. They were enjoying one of his rare days off at home and Tom’s favourite Sunday show had just ended and Chris had free reign over the tv for the rest of the evening. Tom picked up his battered copy of a collection of poems by W.H. Auden from the bookshelf and settled down on the sofa, propping his feet in Chris’ lap. He wiggled his toes and gave Chris the best sad puppy dog look he could muster in hopes of getting a foot rub.

Chris was more than happy to oblige, needing something to distract him from the growing tremble in his hands. It had been nearly two weeks from his last feeding and Chris was becoming increasingly restless.

He massaged Tom’s feet as Tom began to recite a poem for him.

 

“And down by the brimming river  
I heard a lover sing  
Under an arch of the railway:  
'Love has no ending.

'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you  
Till China and Africa meet,  
And the river jumps over the mountain  
And the salmon sing in the street,  
  
'I'll love you till the ocean  
Is folded and hung up to dry  
And the seven stars go squawking  
Like geese about the sky.”

 

Chris wasn’t much into poetry and metaphors, but he listened as Tom read the entire poem for him. It seemed to be about love and death, and how even the greatest of loves couldn’t cheat the passage of time.

His hands stilled on Tom’s feet and he stared blankly at the tv screen, suddenly reminded of the nature of their relationship.

“Chris? Is something the matter?” Tom asked, peering at him from behind the book.

Chris shook his head, pretending to be interested in the show he’d been watching.

Tom glanced at the tv, rolling his eyes. “Here I am, reciting a love poem for you and you’re more interested in the telly,” he laughed, poking at Chris’ stomach with his toes.

He went back to reading his book as Chris continued to massage his feet, but a good foot rub often put Tom to sleep and it didn’t take long for him to nod off. The book lay forgotten on his chest and he was snoring lightly, his cheek pressed awkwardly against his left shoulder.

Chris’ eyes drank in the sight of Tom’s low-cut cardigan and the patch of bare skin that led up to his long, slender neck. Blood thrummed through the jugular, warm and thick, and Chris could almost see Tom’s pulse through the paper-thin skin.

His fangs pushed out, and before he even knew what he was doing, Chris was surging down toward Tom’s neck.

He stopped himself at the last moment and clamped a hand over his mouth, forcing his fangs back, staring down in horror as he realized what he’d been about to do.

Chris set Tom’s feet aside as carefully as he could manage and hurried out of the room.

He ran into the kitchen and sank to his knees in front of the fridge, yanking the door open and rummaging through Tom’s groceries to get to the canister of pig’s blood at the bottom shelf.

Chris tore the cork open and began to drink. Blood spilled down his chin and splattered to the floor between his spread thighs. His body tried to repel the blood with each swallow, but Chris forced it down, drinking until the canister was empty and the hunger in him was sated.

 

* * *

 

 

Tom closed the door to his private dressing room and slumped against it with a heavy thud. He was out of breath and there were beads of sweat running down his neck and back from the sheer exertion his body had been through in the final act, but an exhilarated bark of laughter bubbled up from his chest.

Their production of Macbeth had had a somewhat rocky start, but tonight's performance had finally been trouble-free.

Tom stepped away from the door and walked past his cluttered makeup table to the small fridge in the corner of the room. He grabbed a bottle of water and slumped down onto the burgundy velvet sofa at the very back of the room, stretching his long legs and drinking deeply to cure his parched throat.

There was a sudden loud clatter, followed by a series of knocks that rattled the glass on the narrow window behind his head.

“Bloody hell!” Tom sputtered, nearly choking on his water. He spun around and wiped his face with the back of his hand, hurrying to yank the window open.

Chris climbed in gracefully like a large feline, his feet landing on the couch. “Surprise,” he said, flashing Tom a bright grin.

“We’re on the fourth floor!” Tom gasped, sticking his head out of the window. The alley below was empty, but someone could have easily seen Chris climbing up to Tom’s dressing room window.

“I wasn't sure if they'd let me come backstage,” Chris pouted. “I had to improvise.”

Tom shook his head and set the bottle of water aside. There were still some things about Chris he had trouble believing and his speed and ability to climb up impossible surfaces was definitely one of them.

Chris’ hair was combed into a neat bun and he was dressed in his usher’s uniform, which consisted of black trousers, a white dress shirt, a black waistcoat and a matching tie. He’d been worried that he’d be forced to wear a silly little hat, insisting it would make him look like the monkey of an organ grinder, and Tom had to admit that he almost wished the uniform didn’t make Chris such a handsome sight after he had seen the looks Chris attracted while greeting the audiences in the lobby of the theatre.

“Are you sure you won’t get into trouble for sneaking out so soon after the play?” Tom asked.

“I think seeing you in a kilt is worth the risk, mate,” Chris smirked. He placed his hand on Tom’s thigh, his fingers stroking over the woollen cloth. “So… you wearing anything underneath this thing?”

Tom’s brows shot toward his hairline. “Is that what you climbed up here to find out?”

“It might be,” Chris said, giving a wink. He leaned closer, crowding Tom against the arm rest to steal a quick kiss.

“Chris… I don’t have a lot of time,” Tom warned, but his breath hitched when he felt Chris reach between his parted legs and slide his hand up along Tom's bare inner thigh.

“We’d better not waste it talking then,” Chris whispered, nipping on Tom’s lower lip as his hand continued to inch higher along Tom’s thigh, his blunt nails scratching the sensitive skin.

Tom’s head lolled back against the soft cushions and his mouth fell open in a quiet exhale. Chris seized the opportunity to kiss him properly and lick past his lips, swallowing the moan that rose from Tom’s chest.

Tom parted his thighs in an open invitation, secretly pleased about the unexpected visit; it had been a while since they’d had a chance to be intimate. They both spent most of the evenings at the theater and when they got home just before midnight, Tom was often too tired to do anything but crawl to bed and pass out.

 

Tom let out a disappointed whine when Chris’ mouth and the hand under the kilt suddenly withdrew.

“I’ll be right back,” Chris said, moving to the door to slide the bolt in to lock it.

Tom sat up and tried to gather his wits about, but his mind continued to reel when Chris pinned him down with nothing but his piercing gaze and the feral smile on his lips.

“Alright, time to solve the mystery I’ve been wondering about every single time I’ve seen you on that stage,” Chris said, and the superstitious part in Tom was inwardly relieved that Chris remembered not to mention the actual name of the play; they didn't need any more bad luck.

Tom bit his lower lip in anticipation, his eyes growing dark with lust, and he watched as Chris sank down on his knees between Tom’s legs and forced them further apart to make himself more room. His hands took hold of the hem of Tom’s kilt and he began to slowly work the heavy fabric up his thighs. Tom’s cock was already stirring underneath the cloth and he let out a quiet huff of frustration when Chris lowered his hands to caress Tom’s calves instead, sliding his fingers over the knee-high socks.

“You know I love it when you tease me, but you do need to hurry up,” Tom breathed. “They’ll come and fetch me if I don’t go back down soon, and I very well can’t be caught with the young usher between my legs in my dressing room.”

Despite his words, the forbidden element of their tryst only managed to excite Tom and he inhaled sharply through his nose, his hips jerking up.

Judging by the low growl that erupted from his throat, Chris shared Tom’s excitement. He shoved Tom’s kilt up the rest of the way until the thick fabric was bunched up in Tom’s lap and his cock was revealed to their eyes where it lay hard and swollen against the juncture of his left thigh and hip.

“Dressing traditionally, I see,” Chris declared happily. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to Tom’s knobby knee, moving up along the firm muscle of his thigh until he was finally nuzzling at Tom’s cock.

Tom groaned softly when Chris cupped his balls and gave them a gentle tug while his tongue flicked out to lick a long stripe along Tom’s shaft, all the way up to the tip, which was already red, pre-come slowly oozing from the slit.

Chris lifted Tom’s hips enough to pull him down until his ass was resting against the edge of the sofa.

“What are you up to?” Tom grinned when both of his legs were lifted up and placed on Chris’ broad shoulders.

“Just having a little taste,” Chris said, licking his lips. He wrapped his fingers around the base of Tom’s cock and gave it a few quick strokes before moving lower, his hands grabbing hold of Tom’s ass, spreading his cheeks wide to reveal his hole to Chris’ greedy eyes.

“Oh my God-“ Tom’s breath caught in his throat when Chris plunged between his arse cheeks and flicked his tongue against Tom’s opening. He pulled back to give Tom a hungry smile before going back to work, running the flat of his tongue against the sensitive pucker.

Tom loved it when Chris ate him out, especially when it was an unexpected treat like now, and he ground his hips down, pushing back against Chris’ tongue, hungry for more. His hand wrapped around his own cock as Chris pushed his tongue in, spearing the twitching muscle over and over again, holding nothing back.

Tom was distantly aware of the people walking in the hallway outside his dressing room door, but he couldn’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of Chris’ wet tongue and the building pressure in his balls as they drew up.

Chris eventually withdrew to avoid getting a stiff jaw and he began to lay wet kisses along Tom’s inner thigh, suckling on the firm flesh.

Tom caught the sudden hitch in Chris’ breathing and he blinked his eyes open, glancing down.

“Chris? Are you alright?”

Chris’ mouth withdrew as if he’d been burnt. He lowered his face, taking a moment to catch his breath.

Tom’s brow creased with mild worry, but Chris peered up at him, smiling. He fixed his grip on Tom’s cock, efficiently distracting Tom by pointing the slick head at his mouth and engulfing it without warning.

“Oh fuck,” Tom swore softly, his eyes fluttering closed.

Chris bobbed his head up and down, sucking with the clear intent of bringing Tom off as quickly as possible. He slipped two of his fingers into Tom’s loosened, wet hole and Tom cried out at the initial burn, but it was soon replaced with pleasure as Chris found his prostate, giving him no mercy as he milked the sensitive spot.

Tom carded his fingers through Chris’ hair, and the neat bun began to unravel as he sought purchase in the long strands, tugging gently to guide Chris’ movements.

“Chris, you’re going to have to – ah – you’re going to have to swallow,” Tom panted, “Laurie and Dev will have my head if I make a mess on the costume.”

Chris gave an excited grunt and increased his suction, and Tom took that to mean that he was more than happy to comply. His fingers slid in and out of Tom’s hole, hammering against his prostate and Tom cried out, gathering the kilt higher into his lap, clutching at the rough fabric as his hips rose up from the sofa. “Now… I’m going to come now…” he gasped.

Chris sealed his mouth tightly around the head and pressed his left hand against Tom’s hip to steady him as Tom spilled down his throat, his release long and copious from the fingering.

 

Tom glanced down to see that his kilt was still in pristine condition. Chris withdrew his fingers gently and leaned up to press a kiss to Tom’s’ lips. “That was lovely,” Tom smiled, tracing Chris’ lower lip with his thumb. He was a tad disappointed and surprised to see that Chris wasn’t even half-hard inside his trousers.

“Alright, I’ve got to shower so I can head back down and give a few autographs.” Tom ushered Chris toward the door, giving a light peck to his lips. “I’ll meet you at our usual place?”

Chris gave a nod, slipping out into the long corridor to sneak back into the lobby, and Tom closed the door and began to hurry out of the heavy layers of his costume, tossing them over the rack next to the makeup table. He slid into the tiny shower cubicle in his private bathroom and turned the taps, adjusting the water before stepping under the spray.

He continued to dwell on Chris as he soaped his body and washed the product out of his hair. The play had kept him preoccupied for the past couple of months, but Tom was aware that there was something really off about Chris lately.

It had been weeks since Chris had tasted even a drop of Tom’s blood and he was oddly reserved around Tom even when they were just lying in bed or watching something from the telly.

Tom was often knackered by the time he got home from the theater and he supposed it wasn’t that big a surprise that their sex life had been on the back burner for a while now, but as he thought about it, he was suddenly aware that when they did have sex, it was often very one-sided, much like it had been tonight.

Tom was a little startled to realize that he couldn’t remember the last time Chris had fucked him. He stared at the water swirling down into the drain between his feet, his eyes glazed over. His stomach lurched and there was a brief moment when he feared Chris had lost interest in him, that Tom was no longer appealing to him. _No_ , Tom thought, shaking his head. Chris loved him. It had to be something else.

  

* * *

 

 

They were seated in a small booth at the back of their favorite pub near the theatre, their knees touching under the table. Steady chatter filled the air and the atmosphere was relaxed and jovial.

Tom nursed his pint of ale in his hands as he tried to think of a way to open the conversation he wasn't sure Chris was keen on having. Chris’ attention was currently on the couple sitting in one of the nearby booths, and Tom could tell from the way his pupils were dilated that Chris was staring at the woman’s exposed neck.

He took a swig of ale and reached across the table to take Chris’ hands in his own. Chris’ gaze snapped back to Tom and he looked slightly guilty, his eyes darting around as if Tom had caught him at something forbidden.

“Chris, darling,” Tom began, his voice soft. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Chris squirmed in his seat and tried to yank his hands away, but Tom tightened his hold, refusing to let go.

“You’d tell me if something was bothering you, wouldn’t you?” Tom continued.

“Sure,” Chris nodded. “But everything’s fine.”

An obvious lie.

Tom brushed his thumbs over Chris' knuckles. “It’s alright,” he said. “Go on, tell me what’s wrong.”

Chris worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment until he finally let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“The pig’s blood, it’s not working and I’ve- I’ve been dumping most of it down the sink,” Chris said, the confession leaving his mouth in one hurried litany.

Tom felt his heart sink at the news, but he was also relieved to learn that Chris’ missing libido had nothing to do with his feelings for Tom.

“Wait... if you're not drinking the blood, does that mean you can no longer get an erection? Is that why we haven't-"

Chris looked mortified and he yanked his hands away, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “ _You noticed?_ ”

“Well, it has been a while since we've done more than cuddle in the bedroom," Tom said and he felt a little guilty for not noticing it sooner. "Chris, darling, I wish you’d just told me.”

“I didn’t know how… It's embarrassing and I didn't want you to know I wasn't drinking the blood you've been buying for me.”

“So animal blood doesn’t work?”

Chris shook his head, dejected. “I can’t explain it, but it’s like I’m putting something in my body that doesn’t belong there. And it doesn’t really cure the hunger, either,” he said. “The only time I’m truly satisfied is when I… drink from _you_. Even the stuff from the blood bank could never beat it. The taste of fresh blood straight from your veins, there’s- there’s nothing like it,” Chris confessed, his voice thick with guilt.

“Oh,” was all Tom could manage. He brought his pint up to his lips and lowered his gaze to his coaster to hide the fear in his eyes, finishing his drink in awkward silence.

 

* * *

 

 

Tom fumbled with his keys and shoved them into the lock, nearly dropping them and his armful of groceries in his hurry to get out of the pouring rain.

“Chris!” he called out, “could you come and lend me a hand?”

There was no answer, but Tom could hear the familiar sound of fumbling strumming coming from the study.

“Damn it,” he groaned when he realized he’d forgotten to buy himself the pair of ear plugs he’d been dreaming of last night.

He kicked off his wellies and carried the groceries to the kitchen, setting them down on the counter before making his way to the study where Chris was sitting cross-legged on the floor with his new guitar, surrounded by dozens of tabs he’d printed out from the internet.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Tom huffed. He felt like a wet rat, drops of water rolling down his face from the unruly mop of curls his hair had turned into, but his annoyance melted away the moment Chris looked up and Tom saw the way his eyes shone with pure glee.

“Hey, Tom, listen to this!” Chris set his fingers on the right strings and began to pick them awkwardly, his tongue poking out as he concentrated on the tabs in front of him.

Tom thought he could recognize the familiar intro to Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven, but he couldn’t be sure; Chris’ playing was still very slow and tentative.

It appeared Chris hadn’t learnt more than a few notes and he finished his little performance before the song could even begin. “Well? What do you think?” he asked, beaming up at Tom.

“That’s wonderful,” Tom nodded, using his scarf to pat his face dry. “You’re going to put Jimmy Page to shame.”

He went back into the hallway to remove his wet clothes and Chris continued to pluck his guitar. Tom rubbed at his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache from lack of sleep. They’d found the guitar last night from the nearby flea market, and Chris had been playing in the study all night, apparently thinking that the noise didn’t reach their bedroom where Tom was trying to get some sleep.

Tom was still awake when Chris had crawled into bed just before sunrise, but he didn’t have the heart to ask Chris to stop when he seemed so happy about his new hobby. They still hadn’t found an alternative for the pig’s blood and the last couple of weeks had been exceptionally rough on both of them due to Chris’ inability to feed properly. Chris looked as ill as the day when they first met and he was becoming irritable and increasingly unpredictable, so if an old guitar was enough to distract Chris from his growing hunger and take his mind off his troubles for a while, Tom wasn’t going to stop him.

 

He climbed upstairs, intent on having the warm bath he’d been dreaming of since he got out of the supermarket. He undressed and left his wet clothes in a pile on the bedroom floor and shuffled into the bathroom at the other end of the hallway.

“Can you put the groceries away?” Tom called out, leaning over the bannister. “I’m going to have a bath.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” came Chris reply, but the strumming continued as Tom stepped into the bathroom.

He closed the door and let out a sigh as the sound of Chris’ guitar was muffled some. Tom drew himself a hot bath and sank into the steaming water, leaning his head against the curving slope of the tub.

 

His mother had always claimed that Tom had the patience of a saint, but he had to admit that Chris’ mood swings, not to mention the stressful situation they were in was slowly beginning test his seemingly endless patience.

Chris didn't trust himself around other people when he was this hungry and he was confined to their home. He took his frustration out on Tom, trying to get a rise out of him by constantly picking fights over the most trivial things. Tom did his best to stay calm, reminding himself that Chris couldn't help it, that it was the hunger and fear that made him lash out, but he was afraid their first real row was just behind the corner. 

 

The cold that had settled into his bones slowly melted away in the warm caress of the soapy water and Tom’s eyes began to droop. He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he awoke and found the water lukewarm and his fingers wrinkled like prunes. He climbed out of the bath and toweled himself dry, pulling on his dressing-gown, not bothering to tame his wildly curling hair.

Tom made his way back downstairs, and his temper flared the moment he stepped into the kitchen. The groceries were still in the plastic bags, untouched. The dairy products had begun to go warm and the small tub of ice cream had all but melted.

“Chris!” Tom cried out. “I told you to-“ He let out a startled gasp when Chris was suddenly standing right behind his back. “Jesus… I’ve asked you not to do that.”

“Sorry,” Chris said and he looked so apologetic that it only managed to increase Tom’s irritation.

“Why didn’t you put the groceries away like I asked you to? Now half of them are spoilt.”

“Oh shit,” Chris groaned, “I’m sorry, I forgot… I guess I got lost in my playing.”

"Yes, well, I guess you did," Tom huffed, tossing the melted ice cream in the bin. Chris seemed to sense Tom’s anger and disappointment and he looked at Tom like some scolded pup. The sight of his downturned mouth and the hurt in his eyes made Tom’s stomach turn. “Great… now I feel like a giant prick,” he sighed, reaching into the bags to unload the groceries.

Chris swatted his hands away. “Come on, let me-"

“No _, I’ll do it_ ,” Tom insisted, yanking on the plastic bag and using his elbow to push Chris away.

“But you asked _me_ to do it,” Chris said and he stepped right back into Tom’s personal space.

“Yes, and you didn’t!” Tom exclaimed. He was aware that it was utterly ridiculous to argue over something so insignificant, but he couldn’t stop himself. “All you’ve done is play that bloody guitar and keep me up all night with your insufferable strumming.”

The growing hostility in the air brought forth a low growl from Chris’ chest, and by now they both knew it was something he simply couldn’t control. His pupils narrowed into slits, but the look in his eyes was apologetic.

Chris let go of the bag and lay his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me it was bothering you?” he asked, his voice soft. “I would have stopped if I’d known I was keeping you awake.”

The fight left Tom in one exhausted exhale and he shook his head, letting out a humorless laugh. “I suppose we should learn to be more honest with each other, both of us.”

Chris nodded and leaned closer to press their foreheads together. “I hate keeping things from you.” His hands came up to trace the shells of Tom’s ears and the tension in the room vanished.

They began to empty the grocery bags together, the small row forgotten as quickly as it had started.

“So,” Tom said as he placed the last carton of milk into the fridge, shutting the door with his knee, “is there anything on your mind right now? Anything I should know about?”

Chris’ expression darkened and there was a flicker of fear in his bloodshot eyes. “I’m really hungry,” he confessed. “I don’t know how much longer I can take this, and the truth is, Tom, that it scares me shitless.”

Tom drew Chris into an embrace, not knowing what else to do. He stroked his hand over the wide expanse of Chris’ back, murmuring soothing words in an effort to mask his own worry.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tom paced in front of their bed, his eyes on Chris’ trembling body. It had been more than six weeks since Chris’ last proper feeding and Tom had never seen him like this. His health had deteriorated so fast that both of them had been caught off-guard. Chris had been too weak to get out of bed for days and he had fallen into his usual sleep that morning, but dusk had arrived and he hadn’t woken up.

Tom had tried everything to bring Chris back to consciousness, but nothing worked. He leaned down to press his palm against Chris’ ice cold brow. Chris flinched at the contact and his raspy breaths quickened, but he didn’t awake from his deep sleep.

Tom moved his hand down to Chris’ sunken cheeks. The skin under his fingers felt paper thin and completely lifeless, and Tom couldn’t even find words for what he was seeing. It looked like Chris’ body was wasting away right before his eyes, the illusion of life fading away fast.

Not knowing what else to do, Tom hurried downstairs and fetched the final canister of pig’s blood that he’d kept at the back of the fridge for emergencies. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and ran up the stairs, hurrying into their bedroom.

“Chris,” Tom whispered, his voice thick with worry. “Darling, you must eat.” He wrapped his fingers behind Chris’ neck to lift his head up and brought the glass to Chris’ mouth, tipping it to pour the chilled blood through his parted lips.

The moment the blood entered Chris’ mouth, his fangs pushed out from his gums and a low, almost feral snarl erupted from his chest. His eyes remained closed but he wrenched his head away from Tom’s hold and took a swipe at the glass in his hand.

Tom let out a startled cry and backed away a few steps. The glass slipped from his fingers and there was suddenly a pool of red seeping into the seams between the floor boards.

Chris sputtered the blood Tom had fed him all over the pillowcase, tossing his head around. Tom glanced down at his own wrist, rubbing the blue veins with his thumb. His eyes flicked up to Chris' sharp fangs and he shook his head; he had a feeling Chris wouldn’t be satisfied with just a taste this time.

 

Tom remained by Chris side through the night, but Chris never woke up. He had to call in sick the next day on both their behalf, but Tom knew his understudy would make him proud.

He tried the pig’s blood three more times, but Chris kept refusing it and his reaction to it grew more violent each time Tom forced it past his lips. He had begun to have strange seizures over the course of the day and Tom could do nothing but watch, utterly helpless.

 

It was a little past one in the morning when Tom noticed Chris’ breathing began to wheeze and slow down and his features seemed to twist and mold into something unrecognizable, more animal than human. His mouth fell open and his body jerked a few times before it went completely still, and Tom was overcome with crippling fear as Chris appeared to be drawing his final breath.

“Oh Christ... oh Christ.” He climbed into the bed and knelt by Chris’ listless body, yanking up the right sleeve of his shirt to press his wrist against Chris’ slack mouth, offering it to him in a desperate attempt to save him. “Drink,” Tom ordered, “drink, damn it!”

Chris’ nostrils flared and Tom barely had time to react when there was suddenly a bone-crushing pressure around his arm as Chris grabbed hold of his forearm with both hands.

His fangs pushed out, straight into Tom’s artery.

Tom cried out, the pain searing and intense. He was thrown flat on his back, suddenly face to face with Chris whose eyes were finally open for the first time in nearly two days. Tom’s breath caught in his chest as he met Chris’ blood-red gaze; the creature staring back at him was not Chris.

“Please…” Tom whimpered, not knowing what he was even pleading for.

Chris’ fangs were still buried into Tom’s wrist, his mouth sealed around the puncture wounds, but Tom was vaguely aware that he hadn’t begun to feed. His entire body was wound up, the muscles in his neck and bulging arms trembling. Chris stared down at Tom, growling low in his throat, but there seemed to be a flicker of _something_ in his bloodshot eyes, the slightest hint of recognition.

The deep rumbling sound resonating from Chris’ chest turned into a quiet wail. His brows drew together and a trickle of blood escaped from the corner of his left eye.

The fangs withdrew and Chris’ tongue flicked out to seal the wounds. He pushed Tom’s arm away and scrambled out of the bed, barely able to stay on his feet as he stumbled into the hallway.

Tom blinked, his breathing nothing but desperate gasping as he struggled to comprehend what was happening. When he finally managed to draw in a proper breath, he hurried out of the bedroom and down the stairs, catching a glimpse of Chris’ retreating back as he ran out of the front door, still faster than any human being.

Tom shoved his feet into the nearest pair of shoes and grabbed his mobile and keys, hurrying to his car.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Chris was no longer in control of his body or mind, driven on by the raw, overpowering need for human blood. He was moving through a haze, vaguely aware of the loud, rhythmic thumping sound that vibrated through his chest, and the bright, flashing lights around him. The smell of sweat and endorphins in the air was overwhelming his senses with every inhale, and his ears were flooded with the sound of hundreds of beating hearts all at once.

There was nothing holding him back anymore. None of these people were Tom. None of them mattered, and Chris pushed through the crowd, some deeper instinct in him driving him to seek out a lone victim, separate from the rest of the flock.

He found what he was looking for at the back of the night club, in the dark corridor that housed the bathrooms. He grabbed hold of a girl who was exiting the ladies’ room and drove her against the wall, sinking his fangs into her slender neck.

“What the fuck?” she screamed, thrashing wildly and beating Chris with her handbag. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

Chris tried to pin her against the brick wall, but he was weak and she kept struggling. He’d barely even gotten a taste of her blood when she managed to push him away and run back to the dance floor, disappearing into the crowd.

Chris licked the salty taste of blood that lingered on his lips, taking support from the wall, panting wildly. The loud music that filled the cavernous club was barely audible to him through the constant hammering of hundreds of human hearts in his ears, the sound almost unbearable.

He lurched forward and stumbled out from the corridor to the crowded dance floor, earning himself annoyed looks as he swayed against the clubbers, barely able to stay upright. His fangs were out and screams erupted into the air from the people who noticed, but the sounds were swallowed by the loud music.

Chris’ blood-red eyes were glazed over, but his hunger drove him on until he caught sight of his next prey.

The young man was slouched on an empty couch in a secluded booth at the back of the club, his hands hanging limply at his sides. Chris pounced on him and the man fell down against the sticky leather seat, not putting up any fight as Chris bit him and began to drink from his jugular.

Chris let out a guttural groan when the taste of fresh human blood filled his mouth. A wave of bone-deep satisfaction coursed through him with each greedy swallow, blood spilling from the corners of his mouth as Chris continued to sate his hunger, stealing his victim’s life force into his own body.

His strength slowly returned to him, and as the haze began to pass, Chris was becoming aware of his surroundings for the first time in days. The beat of the music was almost painfully loud in his ears and the strobe light in the ceiling stung his eyes like sunlight.

The young man beneath him let out a pained groan and Chris could sense his anguish. He blinked, suddenly aware of what he was doing. He wretched his mouth away from the youth’s neck and stared down in horror.

The man was barely conscious, lying limply on the leather sofa. Chris glanced around, but everyone’s attention was elsewhere, the music and the darkness distracting them from what Chris had been doing in the secluded corner.

Chris sealed the wounds and hurried toward the nearby counter to tell the bartenders to call for an ambulance. He was halfway across the room when a sudden feeling of intoxication made his knees go weak and Chris had to struggle to stay on his feet.

He brought his hand up and frowned as it appeared to first double, then triple in front of his eyes. The room around him began to spin and Chris was hit with a wave of nausea. He managed to stumble to the bar and crashed against the counter, startling the people around him.

“Hey, you alright there, mate?” the bartender asked him, and Chris could see the horror on his face as he took in Chris’ blood-smeared mouth and his haggard appearance. “Holy shit! Do you need an ambulance or something?”

“He’s alright,” a female voice spoke from somewhere to Chris’ right. “I will take care of him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the bartender said, sounding uncertain, but he didn’t question who ever had spoken to him.

Chris was yanked up from the counter and half-pushed, half-dragged through the crowded dance floor. His vision continued to swim and he was beginning to lose control of his limbs, barely able to lift his feet.

“Foolish child,” the woman hissed as she dragged Chris up a flight of stairs. “What were you doing, feeding in public like that?” She sounded furious and her anger was made even more biting by the strong, east European accent in her voice.

Chris was pushed through a door into what looked like a small office. He fell on his hands and knees, but the woman was at his side in a heartbeat, lifting him up and dragging him toward the sleek leather couch in the corner. She laid Chris down on his back on the sofa and his long legs hung over the edge, but he barely even felt them anymore.

“Where’s your maker?” the woman asked, her voice stern. “Call for them.”

Chris shook his head, delirious. “Tom…” he muttered, “Tom.”

“Is he your maker?” She felt around Chris’ pockets for a phone, but Chris didn’t even have his shoes on.

“Tom…” Chris repeated, letting out a quiet sniffle.

The woman knelt beside him. “Shh, it’s alright,” she said, her voice a touch softer. “Can you tell me what Tom’s last name is?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tom had been driving around Greenwich for the past hour, but there was no sight of Chris or any clue that might help Tom to track him down. He jumped in his seat and cursed loudly when his mobile went off in the pocket of his sweats. The number on the screen didn’t look familiar and Tom brought the phone to his ear, praying the call wasn’t from the hospital or the police.

“Hello? Chris?”

Tom was greeted by a woman. She explained the situation quickly and efficiently and the call was over before Tom had even had a chance to ask her who she was. He turned the car around and drove as fast as he could without risking being pulled over by the police.

He arrived at the club the woman had mentioned on the phone and cold sweat prickled on his forehead when he saw the ambulance parked in front of the entrance, the blue glare from the lights flashing against the wall of the building. He hurried across the street, making his way past the line of people and headed to the back door like he’d been instructed. The door opened before Tom had a chance to knock and he was suddenly face to face with a tall red-haired woman.

“Tom?”

“Yes! Is Chris alright? Where is he?”

The woman led him to the employee’s area and into a small office. Tom cried out when his eyes landed on Chris where he was slumped on a black leather couch, barely conscious, his face smeared in blood.

“Oh my God, what’s happened to you?” Tom fell to his knees in front of Chris and gathered his limp upper body into his arms. He turned to look over his shoulder. “What’s the matter with him?”

“He must have sneaked into the club through the stocking area in the back,” the woman said, standing a few feet away from Tom, and he could hear the deep disapproval in her voice as she continued, "he was in a Haze and feeding in plain sight. I sensed him as soon as he entered the club, but I could not find him in time and he must have fed from someone whose blood was laced with alcohol or hard drugs.”

“Oh goodness,” Tom gasped, cradling Chris’ head against his chest and pressing a soft kiss to his cold brow.

“He should be fine as soon as the drugs wear off,” the woman reassured him.

Tom remembered the ambulance parked at the entrance. “Did he harm anyone?”

The woman shook her head. “I do not think the damage was permanent, but I had one of my employees call for an ambulance.”

Tom’s attention was focused on Chris’ blood-smeared face, but he could feel the pair of judging eyes boring into his back.

“Are you his maker?” the woman asked, and the reproachful, almost angry, tone in her voice was back.

“What?” Tom turned to look at her, confused by the strange question. “No, I’m… He’s my partner, he lives with me. Chris never met his maker.”

Her expression softened and there was a hint of sadness and understanding in her eyes. “Ah, so he is an orphan,” she nodded, “that explains the carelessness, then.”

Tom heard the woman inhale and scent the air, her eyes sharpening as she regarded Tom.

“Wait… you’re mortal,” she said, sounding surprised. Her eyes flicked to Chris and back to Tom again. “How curious,” she said, a touch of amused laughter in her voice.

Tom's brow creased as he thought back to their earlier conversation and he felt a sudden rush of fear as realization finally hit him. “ _You’re a vampire_?” he sputtered, but she must have sensed his fear, because she raised her arm and gave him a reassuring smile.

“There’s no need to worry,” she said. “Unlike your friend here, I make sure to keep myself properly fed. I have no desire or need for your blood. Not at this moment, anyway.”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Tom said, letting out a nervous bark of laughter.

“Besides,” she continued, “I never bite someone who’s already been claimed by one of my kin. His scent is all over you, which is why I didn’t immediately sense you're a mortal,” she explained.

Tom felt himself blush a little. He had no idea Chris had laid some kind of special vampire claim on him.

 

Chris let out a quiet groan as Tom attempted to lift him up, but he was too heavy for him. “Can you help me to get him to my car? It’s parked nearby.”

The woman nodded and together they lifted Chris’ unconscious body from the couch, each throwing one of his muscled arms over their shoulder.

“You’re strong,” Tom remarked, visibly impressed.

“You could say it runs in our blood,” she grinned.

They walked Chris out of the club and down the street to Tom’s Ford, and Tom lowered him gently into the passenger seat, reaching over him to fasten the seat belt. When he turned around, the woman was standing a few meters away, watching them with a curious look on her face that made Tom feel slightly self-conscious.

“Thank you so much,” Tom said. “You must have saved his life.”

“He really doesn’t have a clue about how everything works, does he?” she asked.

Tom shook his head. “To tell you the truth, we didn’t even know there are others like him out and about in London.”

“Oh, there are others,” she smirked.

“Would you...” Tom began, scratching the back of his head. “Would it be possible for you to perhaps join us for dinner or drinks or-  well, you get my point - maybe tomorrow evening? I’m sure Chris would like to thank you himself,” Tom asked, knowing this was their chance to finally get some answers.

The woman eyed Chris, who remained passed out inside the car, and something akin to pity passed over her features. “I suppose he could use a little guidance.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Chris awoke to soft caresses moving along his shoulder and he leaned into the touch, but as soon as he became aware of his surroundings, he felt a splitting headache, one he hadn’t experienced since before he’d been turned.

He burrowed deeper into the pillows, refusing to face the world, but the hand on his shoulder didn’t give him a chance to slip back to unconsciousness, shaking him awake.

“How are you feeling?” Tom’s voice drifted into Chris’ ears from behind him, half-muffled by the thick duvet Chris was wrapped in.

"Like I’ve been trampled by a herd of emus…” Chris rolled over to lie on his back and poked his head out with a pained grunt. There were no lights on in the bedroom, but even the darkness hurt Chris’ eyes as he blinked them open.

Tom gave him a sympathetic smile and brushed his fingers against Chris forehead, combing his matted hair behind his ears. “It’ll pass,” he assured.

Chris’ mind was hazy. It he felt like he’d been asleep for days. He frowned as he tried to piece together the strange, blurry images that flashed through his mind: bright lights, loud music, masses of people, the smell of sweat and adrenalin and intoxication. He could tell his blood lust had been sated, but he had no memory of feeding.

“What the hell happened to me? Did I go out or something?”

Tom’s expression was pensive, and Chris felt his stomach turn with a wave of nausea as Tom recalled the events of the past few days. He listened with growing horror as Tom talked about the night club, but he was relieved to hear that no one had been permanently harmed.

“How the hell did you find me?” Chris asked.

Tom got up from the bed to fetch Chris some clean clothes from the dresser, laying them out on the ottoman.

“There’s someone downstairs who would like to meet you,” Tom said. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Chris followed on Tom’s heels down the narrow staircase, his head still spinning. He could sense a strange presence in their home and it put him on edge. They hadn’t had many guests over, as it was simply easier to meet people at cafes and restaurants, though Tom’s younger sister had paid him a surprise visit a few months ago when Chris was asleep. He’d immediately known they’d had a visitor, because her scent lingered in their flat long after she’d left. He’d even been able to smell her blood relation to Tom just by scenting the air.

Tom led Chris into the kitchen and opened the glass door to the tiny private garden attached to his Victorian house, urging Chris to step out. It was early September, but the weather was exceptionally warm as the heat of summer lingered over London. The porch light was on and Tom had lit a few candles on the small glass table at the center of the wooden terrace.

Chris' fangs were out the moment he laid his eyes on the woman standing by the swing at the back of the garden. She turned around and flashed Chris a bright, almost feral smile, walking toward him, her heels clicking against the wood of the terrace. She was dressed sharply and appeared to be in her early forties, but there was a strange aura about her that made it impossible to guess her actual age.

Chris pushed forward to shield Tom with his larger body.

“She’s a vampire,” Chris growled, wrapping a protective arm around Tom’s waist.

Tom yelped, nearly losing his footing as Chris yanked him against his chest. “I know”, he gasped, “she’s the one who saved you. It’s alright, Chris, she means us no harm.”

Chris frowned, clasping Tom’s hand as he pulled him into the garden, urging Chris to follow him.

"Sorry about that," Tom said, giving their guest an abashed look. “This is Lucie,” he said, turning to Chris. "She owns the club where we found you and she’s promised to answer whatever questions you might have."

Lucie offered her slender arm to Chris, the bracelets around her wrist jingling, but Chris didn’t take it, eyeing her suspiciously and scenting the air around her.

“It’s alright, Chris.” Tom took hold of Chris’ shoulders and sat him down in one of the deck chairs. He pressed a kiss to the top of Chris’ head. “It’s alright.”

"I'm afraid our kind can be somewhat territorial and it is in our nature to be suspicious of others," Lucie said, her expression understanding and a little amused as she took a seat across from Chris. "We really can't help it."

Her green eyes fixed on Chris, capturing his gaze, and as they watched each other, a strange lull came over him. His breathing settled and everything around him ceased to exist, his attention focused solely on Lucie.

‘ _Be calm_ ,’ a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

Chris’ fangs withdrew and he was suddenly convinced that there was no threat around them.

 

Tom didn’t seem to be aware of the strange connection that had passed between Lucie and Chris. “I would offer you something to drink, but the last time I made Chris a cup of tea it didn’t end so well," he said.

Lucie gave Chris a sympathetic smile. She reached for the leather handbag by her feet a pulled out a small vacuum flask, handing it to Tom. Tom turned it over in his hands, his thumb brushing over the red label on the side that had the word ‘BtA+’ in simple large letters.

“Well, I’ll just go and fetch some glasses, then.” Tom gave Chris’ shoulder a light squeeze and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Chris alone with Lucie.

 

“I am glad to see you’re doing better,” Lucie said, her accent thick but easy on the ears. “It’s lucky I found you. When the Haze comes over us, there’s little we can do to resist our, shall we say, _baser instincts_.”

Chris cleared his throat, shifting in his chair. “Thank you… I can’t remember much, but Tom told me what happened and I’m grateful for what you did for me.” He continued to stare, not even bothering to hide his stunned curiosity.

Lucie let out a quiet hum of laughter, and Chris dropped his gaze to his lap, looking a little abashed. “Sorry, it’s just that I had no idea there were others like me. I guess I’m still kind of getting used to the whole vampire thing. I thought creatures like us only existed in horror movies and old myths.”

“Many myths have their roots in reality,” Lucie remarked. “I can’t tell you where we came from, that knowledge has been lost long ago, but we do exist in every society; though perhaps not in the way you would expect if your knowledge comes from works of fiction.”

 

Tom returned with a tray full of biscuits and tea. He set it down on the garden table and gave a sheepish grin as he realized there were far too many biscuits for one person.

“Old habits and all that,” he said. He set the wine glasses he’d brought with him on two cardboard coasters in front of Chris and Lucie, and they both watched as Tom opened the flask and began to pour.

Lucie’s expression remained unchanged, but Chris’ fangs pushed out from his gums as soon as the rich smell of human blood reached his nostrils.

“Where did you get that?” Chris asked, staring at the blood in his glass with hungry eyes. Were they seriously about to feed so casually, as if they were having a glass of wine? “Do you have a deal with the hospital?”

“The hospital?” Lucie asked, confused.

“I had a friend who worked at St. George’s and we were able to make a deal with her that kept Chris fed until a few months ago,” Tom explained. He took a seat in the chair next to Chris and stirred his own steaming cup of tea.

“Illegal deals like that are rarely a permanent solution,” Lucie said, “and they carry far too many risks.” She brought her glass up to inhale the scent of the crimson liquid inside, sampling the blood as if it really were fine wine. “Fortunately, there are plenty of willing donors and other arrangements that keep us fed,” Lucie said. “Though in some cities there is still a problem with forced drainings and illegal black market blood. _Never_ drink from an unlabeled bottle, Chris.”

Lucie tipped the glass and drank, not a drop spilled, and Chris noticed her fangs remained hidden the entire time. He felt a little self-conscious over his lack of control as his fangs clinked against the rim of his own glass. He wasn’t even hungry, but the sheer taste of human blood was enough to make him empty his glass in one greedy pull.

Lucie gave him an amused look. “Don’t worry, you will learn to control your hunger.”

“I will?” Chris asked, his eyes wide.

“Of course,” Lucie nodded. “You’re still a child and all children are consumed by their hunger and lust for blood.”

Chris frowned. He didn’t exactly appreciate being called a child at twenty-seven. Tom took note of his expression and laughed quietly into his tea cup.

“Chris has to feed every two weeks or he starts to get ill,” Tom said. “Once the deal with my friend was off, Chris tried to live on pig’s blood, but it didn’t exactly work out, which is why things got as bad as they did.”

“ _Pig’s blood_?” Lucie recoiled in her chair, visibly horrified. “I would not call that living, and hardly even surviving. Animal blood is always the very last resort, especially in this day and age."

“I can’t keep it down,” Chris said, and he shivered at the mere memory of all the times he'd forced himself to drink down the foul liquid to keep his hunger at bay. “I can’t explain it, but it feels wrong.”

Lucie nodded. “Of course it does. It’s blood, but obviously you have never been a pig. You cannot feed yourself on animal blood for the same reason you would not give a human being a blood transfusion with blood that came from another species. Their immune system would repel it,” Lucie explained. "You will eventually become sick."

 

Both Chris and Tom listened with rapt attention as Lucie continued to talk about her own experiences with animal blood and how she'd been forced to go hungry for nearly two months in her youth while she had been trapped on a ship.

“And you can never tell what diseases animals might carry.” She pointed at the bottle on the table. “The blood we get from our donors is always tested and we know it’s safe to drink it.”

Chris was beginning to feel a sense of relief as he was finally given some answers. The perpetual loneliness and isolation he had felt every single day for the last twenty months was suddenly gone, and the world was starting to feel large again.

“So there’s some underground vampire society or something?” Chris asked, leaning forward in his seat.

“We are solitary creatures and we do prefer to keep our existence hidden for the most part, but collaboration with mortals is a necessity. We cannot exist without your help,” she said, her eyes on Tom. “We are bound to darkness, but many of us lead perfectly normal lives in today’s society. It’s far easier to hold on to our humanity now than it was in the older days.”

“How long have you been a vampire?” Chris asked, the questions pouring out of him. "Have you always lived in London?"

Lucie chuckled under her breath. “It is rude to ask a lady about her age, no?”

Tom gave a polite apology, but Chris leaned forward, eager to know.

“Are you older than hundred?” he asked.

“I was born in Lithuania in 1848.”

Tom stared at her in utter disbelief. “That would make you-“

“166 years old,” Lucie smirked, clearly enjoying the stunned reaction.

“That’s incredible,” Tom breathed, and even Chris was rendered speechless.

“I left my home more than seventy years ago to escape the war, and my maker and I ended up in London in the late sixties.” Lucie’s expression turned somber and she turned her eyes on Chris. “Tom told me you have never met your maker.”

“I hardly remember the night I was bitten. I woke up alone in the countryside and I would have been toast if Tom hadn’t saved me when I was caught in the sunlight.”

“How awful,” Lucie breathed. “But you were very fortunate. Many newborns that are abandoned by their makers never survive the first couple of days.”

“So he was abandoned?” Tom asked. They had never been sure if Chris’ experience was the norm or if he’d just had shit luck.

“The bond between a vampire and their maker is sacred and the deepest bond there is, because it is eternal. But unfortunately, the old ways are no longer held in very high regard by some of the younger generations.” There was deep contempt in Lucie’s voice as she continued. “There are many orphans like yourself who get bitten, but their makers never intend to take responsibility for the ones they turn.”

“Why not?” Tom asked. He took hold of Chris’ hand and wound their fingers together.

“Some are bitter about their lives and they take their misery out on others. Some are lonely and simply wish for a companion, but they come to regret their decision when they realize they don’t want the responsibility of guiding a newborn. And then there are the rogues who live outside of our society and care nothing for the set of rules we’ve been abiding by for centuries. To them, a mortal life is meaningless and they feel no remorse taking one to feed themselves.”

Lucie gave Chris a considering look, her eyes roaming over the hard-cut lines of his body. “The vampire that bit you was probably looking for a mate or someone to sate their lust with.”

Chris dropped his gaze to the table and tightened his hold on Tom’s hand. Lucie took note of the way their fingers were twined together and both Chris and Tom noticed the way she was staring at them.

Lucie gave an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, but it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen a vampire and a mortal in such a … committed relationship. You see, most of us prefer the company of our own kind.”

Tom looked surprised. “Oh?”

“A relationship between a vampire and a mortal has its challenges, as I’m sure you’ve discovered.”

“Well…” Tom laughed quietly, giving Chris an amused look, but the expression on Chris’ face was grim.

“That’s not the only reason, is it?” Chris asked.

“No,” Lucie sighed. “It’s the very nature of the relationship. They are so… fleeting.” There was a flash of deep pain on her features, as if an old wound had been reopened. “A human life is a mere heartbeat for the likes us,” she said quietly.

Chris tried to swallow against the familiar fear of loss as it began to rise like bile in his throat and he tightened his hold on Tom’s hand.

“Can we be killed?”

“Of course,” Lucie nodded. “There are many things that can be fatal to our kind.”

“Sunlight…” Chris said under his breath, trembling at the memory of his skin peeling off and blistering raw.

“Direct sunlight is very painful,” Lucie agreed, wincing a little. “And it will eventually kill you. There are also many blood diseases, which is why you have to be careful about feeding.”

“What about a good old wooden stake?” Chris asked. "Like in the movies."

“Any kind of blow to the heart will kill you. As will beheading.”

Chris’ hand shot up to rub at his throat and Tom placed a protective palm over Chris' heart.

“But if you manage to avoid these things, I guess you could say we are immortal,” Lucie said.

 

“How- how do you turn someone?”

Both Lucie and Chris were surprised that the question had come from Tom.

Lucie arched her slender brows and gave both Tom and Chris a long, appraising look.

“It’s not an easy process,” she said finally. “You must drain a person to the point where their heart barely beats and they’re on the verge of death. You then offer them the blood that flows in your own veins, which will eventually kill the mortal body.” She shivered as if remembering a phantom pain. “It’s a long process and… rather painful.”

"Jesus," Chris breathed.

“Once the body is dead, you must bury it in the ground until it’s ready to be born anew." The look in Lucie's eyes was stern as she continued, her gaze fixed on Chris. "You should never take it lightly. Not only are you ending a life, but the person you turn will be bound to you forever.”

Lucie turned her eyes to Tom, her expression equally stern.

“This new life that is given to us by our maker is eternal and it can be a gift, but an eternity of night can also be a cage.”

Tom let out a shaky breath. Chris could hear the rapid beat of his heart in his own ears, but he was too overwhelmed to make proper sense of the jumble of Tom’s emotions.

 

“And that’s all I’m willing to say on the matter, for now. “ Lucie glanced at the watch around her wrist. She stood up from the chair and straightened the non-existing wrinkles on her black skirt.

"Wait, you're going already?" Chris asked, unable to hide his disappointment.

“I'm afraid so. The club opens in a few hours and I have some paper-work and a few meetings."

Tom rose up to give Lucie a hug, but he refrained from kissing her cheek when he heard the involuntary little growl bursting from Chris’ throat.

Lucie gave a laugh at that. “Don’t worry, he will learn to control the possessive streak as he settles into this life.”

 

They saw her to her car and she opened the trunk and pulled out a large crate filled with familiar looking thermos bottles. Tom hurried to take it off her hands, and Lucie smiled at his needless chivalry when Tom nearly doubled over under the weight of the crate, realizing just how strong she was.

“The amount of blood in these bottles should last you for another six months,” Lucie smiled. “I have some connections, so it’s my treat.”

Chris’ eyes went wide and Tom, too, let out a gasp.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Chris said, grasping for words.

Lucie gave a dismissive wave. “Oh, I almost forgot." She reached into her handbag and handed Chris a neatly folded piece of egg white paper. On it were dozens of phone numbers and addresses. 

"Like I said, there are more of us out there, you just have to know where to look. London especially is wonderful for our kind. Many larger cities have services that make our existence easier, but London has been one of our havens for centuries." She pointed at the number on the very bottom of the paper, written in bright red letters.

“This one is for emergencies.” Lucie said, her eyes on Tom. “If he ever reaches the state he was in last night, you call this number. Public feeding is a threat to us all and it is not regarded lightly.” She got into her car and rolled down the window. “If you ever need me, you know where to find me.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

"This is unbelievable,” Chris breathed as he studied the piece of paper in the backyard swing. He’d been feeding on blood for almost two years, but the knowledge that there were actual vampires living among people still took his breath away.

Most of the addresses were unfamiliar to him, but he suspected they were all located at secluded places, out of the public eye.

Tom joined him in the swing, carrying another glass of blood and a bottle of white wine for himself.

“That one is near Hyde Park,” he said, pointing at one of the addresses as Chris made him room in the crook of his arm. “We can take the car after my Friday evening performance and see exactly where some these places are.”

There were numbers and addresses for several different services: blood suppliers, emergency shelters, support groups, employment and housing services, and the list went on. It looked like some parts of the modern vampire society existed online, and the list included several websites and message boards where one could be anonymous, only recognizable by a set of strange phrases that Chris guessed were some kind of passwords to find other vampires and people who shared the secret of their existence.

 

The street behind the tall wooden fence that hid their little garden from prying eyes had turned quiet, save for the occasional passing car, and the candles on the table created a relaxing atmosphere.

Tom sipped his wine, his head propped against Chris’ shoulder, their feet moving the swing in a slow back-and-forth motion.

It felt like a weight had been lifted from both their shoulders.

Chris nuzzled at Tom’s short curls, pulling him tighter against his flank. His body radiated with warmth again and there was a healthy pink glow on his cheeks.

“Tom?”

“Mmm?” Tom turned his face up to meet Chris’ eyes.

“Thanks for putting up with all my shit,” Chris said, and Tom caught the little hitch in his breath. “I know it got pretty bad and you have no idea how happy I am that you didn’t give up on me, even when I was being a total arse.”

“Oh, darling...”

Tom set their glasses down on the wooden terrace and turned over in Chris’ arms to cup his face. He knew he could have waxed lyrical about the depth of his feelings for Chris with a line or two from Shakespeare, but there were times when actions spoke more than words, and he slid his fingers behind Chris' neck to pull him in for a simple kiss, brushing their lips together softly, knowing it was more than enough to convey his devotion to Chris.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

 

* * *

 

 


End file.
